A Weekend At 221B
by PiscisCruor
Summary: Taking a well-deserved break, the Winchesters head to London to catch up with an old friend. Destiel and Johnlock.


"Knock knock!"

"Get out."

"Nice to see you too, Cheekbones."

"I said get out, Dean. I need to go to my mind palace."

"I'll just leave a man bleeding on the sidewalk then."

"Ugh, again?"

* * *

Sherlock stamped down the steps of the flat, pulling his dressing gown over his chest and tying the cord around his stomach. John was sat on the sidewalk, holding a cloth to his face. Sam was standing beside him, looking guilty.

"Sam," Sherlock said by way of greeting.

"Sherlock."

"Wait, Sherlock, you know these guys?" John interjected, looking up at his flat mate.

"Unfortunately so. John, this is Sam and Dean Winchester. They're… hunters." Sherlock indicated each man as he spoke their name.

"Oh. Hi," John said, glancing at the men standing over him. His eyes shifted slightly as he looked at Sam. Sherlock noticed and rolled his own eyes.

"Sam, what did you do this time?" he asked.

"Nothing! I mean, not on purpose," Sam replied defensively. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "I didn't mean to punch him."

"Or throw holy water over him," Dean muttered under his breath.

"Yes thank you for your input. John, get up and stop complaining. Sam and Dean, I guess it would be polite to invite you inside, or Mrs Hudson will have my head." Sherlock turned on his heel and stalked back inside. Sam offered John a hand, but John pointedly ignored it, pushing himself up with his walking stick.

* * *

Mrs Hudson served tea as Sherlock roughly washed blood off John's face, trying but failing to be gentle. Sam and Dean stood around awkwardly, watching the proceedings. Dean nudged Sam and indicated where John and Sherlock were sitting very close, winking like he knew a dirty secret. Sam looked away.

"Milk? Sugar?" Mrs Hudson offered the brothers a cup of tea each. Both shook their heads and accepted the cups gratefully but uncertainly, unsure of how to drink the hot beverage that the English favoured.

"It's so nice to see you boys here again. It's been quite a while," she said, sipping her tea. The Winchesters imitated her and winced, the hot liquid burning their tongues.

"It has, yeah. Not since that case of the Rugaru that stumped Sherlock," Dean replied, setting his cup aside.

"I was not stumped, just… unsure of how to proceed once I knew what we were facing." Sherlock dried John's face and threw the towel on the rack in front of the unlit fireplace.

"Sorry, the what?" John asked, looking between the four people.

"A Rugaru, John, don't be dim. A werewolf."

"Ah, of course, and why did the moose punch me and throw water over me?"

"Why does everyone associate me with a moose?" Sam said, slightly exasperated. He was ignored.

"Sorry, John, was it? My brother thought you were a Howling," Dean replied.

"Ri-ight… And you boys are hunters of what, exactly?"

"Things that go bump in the night."

* * *

Sherlock, John, Sam and Dean crowded around the small table in the kitchen of 221B, chairs scraping against the tiles as they made themselves comfortable for dinner.

"What's for dinner, Mrs H?" Dean asked, picking up a plate of vegetables form the counter and bringing them to the table.

"Pie, dear. Your favourite, as I remember?" Mrs Hudson replied, pulling it out of the oven.

"Damn, this lady knows the way to my heart!" Dean grinned, sitting down. John got up at the same time and went to the fridge. He opened it and peered in.

"Beer, white or red?" he asked.

"It that… a head?" Sam cried, looking into the fridge in horror.

"You get used to it."

"Me and Sammy'll have a beer, thanks John," Dean cut over Sam's babbling, serving himself a large slice of pie. Mrs Hudson settled into the last empty seat at the head of the table and served out the vegetables.

"Mrs Hudson and I will have red, John," Sherlock said, watching his friend. John nodded and grabbed out three beers and a bottle of red wine. He stretched up to get two wine glasses from a high cupboard. His woollen jumper rode up slightly, revealing an inch of bare skin. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed Sherlock eye the older man, and sniggered under his breath. He decided to interview John later, determined to find out how such a seemingly normal man got a dick like Sherlock.

Finally, everyone was seated and conversation buzzed as they ate and drank. John listened intently to Dean and Sam's stories, visibly impressed. Sherlock listened, but made no indication he cared. The only times he spoke were to John and to interrupt someone to correct them.

Once everyone had finished, Mrs Hudson cleared the table. John jumped up to do the dishes, and Dean offered up his services, seizing the opportunity to talk to the older man. Mrs Hudson, Sherlock and Sam left them in the kitchen and reconvened in the living room.

John watched them for a moment, then turned to the pile of dishes in the sink after chucking a drying up cloth at Dean. They were silent for the first few moments, but Dean decided there wouldn't be much time left to talk if he left it much longer.

"So, you and Sherlock, huh?"

John faltered for a moment, but quickly straightened up, trying to cover his reaction. Dean looked at him, grinning.

"There's something there, isn't there?"

John laughed softly and smiled fondly, unable to help himself. He glanced over to where Sherlock was slumped in his chair.

"You seem like a nice guy. How'd you attract _him_?"

"He's not that bad."

"Yeah he is."

"Okay yeah a bit, but he's learning."

Dean purposefully dried the plates slowly, questioning John about how he and his flat mate met. John was happy to talk about it, only blushing when Dean's questions became more intimate. John was smiling and laughing when they walked back to join the rest of the group. He pulled another chair over for Dean and, as Mrs Hudson was sitting in his usual chair, perched on the arm of Sherlock's chair. Sherlock sat up immediately and leant in closer to John, almost automatically.

Time seemed to pass quickly, and Mrs Hudson was showing the Winchesters where they would sleep. A sofa-bed had been moved into John's bedroom for whichever brother lost the fight to sleep in John's old bed. Sam and Mrs Hudson went to bed soon after. Sherlock had gone for an evening walk, so John and Dean were left alone to talk again.

"You know, I have my own version of Sherlock," Dean said, sliding into Mrs Hudson's empty chair.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He is as ignorant about human emotions as Sherlock is, but, you know."

"You love him?"

"Yeah," Dean said, sighing slightly. He looked down at his hands folded in his laps.

"What's wrong?" John asked, leaning forward.

"I just… I'm constantly worrying about him. Even though I know he can handle himself most of the time, I never know where he is if he's not with me."

"Ah. He's your wandering angel, so to speak."

Dean laughed darkly. "You could say that, yeah."

"What's his name?"

"Castiel."

"Unusual name."

"Because every second man is called Sherlock."

The door of 221B opened with a squeak and Sherlock stepped through, closing it behind him.

"Speak of the devil," John chuckled. Dean laughed with him. Sherlock didn't speak, just nodded at the two men as he went past into his bedroom. The two men talked about their troublesome partners until Dean's eyes began to droop.

"I'd better hit the sack," he said, pushing himself up out of the chair. John agreed and stood up with him.

"John, where's those red pants?" came a voice from down the hall. John went bright red as Dean tried to stifle another laugh.

"I'm coming, Sherlock!" Saying a hurried goodnight to Dean, they went into their separate bedrooms.

When Dean went into the room he was sharing with his brother, Sam was already sleeping soundly in John's bed, so Dean got dressed and made himself comfortable on the sofa-bed.

* * *

Sunday morning, Dean was woken by someone's hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently. When he peeled his eyes open, he saw Castiel standing over him. He reached up and ruffled the angel's hair, smiling. Castiel looked confused, not used to Dean smiling when he was woken up.

"Heya Cas. I was talking about you last night," Dean said, his voice hoarse with sleep.

"I know."

"Of course you do," Dean said, dropping his hand and looking at the digital clock on the bedside table.

_0408_

"Cas, why did you wake me up at four in the morning?" Dean asked, frowning slightly.

"Some guy called Tony Harrison called. Said he heard you were in the area and that he needed a hand with a couple of demons. Should I wake Sam?" Castiel asked, sitting beside Dean on the sofa-bed. Dean looked at Sam's sleeping form and shook his head.

"Nah, it'll only take a minute to gank a few demons. I'll be back before breakfast," Dean sat up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Where is Tony?"

"Camden."

"Where the hell is that?"

* * *

Three demons later, Castiel and Dean were back in the bedroom, light sifting through the drawn curtains. Sam was still sleeping, but the digital clock read a more reasonable hour.

_0746_

Without a moment's hesitation, Dean stepped into the en suit bathroom and stripped off blood soaked clothes and ran the shower. He washed himself carefully and cleaned out the odd fresh cut from that morning's hunt. Turning the shower off, he scrubbed his hair with a pristine white towel until it stuck up at odd angles, and wrapped the towel around his waist. After a quick search of the bathroom cabinet, he found nothing to cover his wounds. He could hear movement in the kitchen, so he assumed John was up and about.

"Cas, can you go into the kitchen and ask John where some Dettol and bandages are? Tell him I've just reopened an old cut or something," Dean called out.

"Is John the homosexual man that wears jumpers?" Castiel called back. Dean paused for a moment, considering this description of his new friend.

"Yes."

He heard Castiel vanish with a _pop_. He didn't think to explain to the angel that John may not be used to strangers appearing out of thin air in his kitchen. Sure enough, he heard the clatter of a plate hit the kitchen counter timed with a curse. He heard Castiel's low voice explain the situation and then John's reply. There was silence until Castiel reappeared beside Dean, clutching a bottle, cotton balls and bandages. Dean went to take them from them but Castiel shook his head.

"Sit," he said, indicating the closed toilet with his head. Dean obeyed and Castiel knelt in front of him. Dean watched with wonder as the angel carefully applied the stinging Dettol to the cuts on his arm, cleaning them with the cotton balls. After applying more Dettol, Castiel wrapped the bandages around Dean's arm, watching him to make sure he wasn't hurting him.

"Not bad," Dean mused once Castiel pinned the bandage in place. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"From watching you."

Dean grinned and ruffled the angel's hair again, earning a disapproving look, and indicated for Cas to turn his back while he dressed. They walked back into the bedroom, where Sam was now sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

"Why are you up already?" he asked, blinking blearily at them. Dean responded with "demons" and Sam nodded understandingly, though Dean knew he was more than a bit pissed off at not being included.

* * *

Once the brothers and Castiel were all washed and dressed, they joined John in the kitchen. John's eyes flicked to Castiel before settling on Dean with a _look_.

"Is this your wandering angel?" he asked.

"How did he kn-" Castiel began to ask, confused, but Dean cut him off with a loud cough and answered the other man's question with a nod. John looked surprised at Castiel's reaction until he smoothed his hand over his face, shaking his head to himself. He motioned for the two men to sit down at the table just as Sherlock swanned in, satin striped, blue dressing gown flapping around his ankles. Nudging John aside with his hip, he took over the poached eggs that his partner had started preparing. Immediately defeated, John turned straight to the kettle, taking it to the sink to fill it up before putting it back on the base and flicking the switch.

"Tea or coffee?" he asked, glancing over at Sam as he padded sleepily into the kitchen, pushing wet hair out of his eyes.

"Coffee please, John," Sam replied through a yawn before sliding into a chair beside his brother. "Morning Castiel."

"Morning Sam."

"Same for me, cheers," Dean replied, sliding his chair slightly closer to the angel to give his tall sibling more room to move.

"And for you, Castiel?" John glanced over his shoulder at the third member of the trio. Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock barked out a short laugh before he could speak.

"Don't be thick, John. Castiel doesn't need to eat," Sherlock said, not looking up from where he scooped a dozen poached eggs onto a large plate. He turned and set the plate and a full toast rack down in the middle of the table, beside a white butter jar. From drawers and cupboards, he pulled out a collection of mismatched plates and cutlery, which he positioned in front of place at the table.

"Maybe he can decide that for himself?" John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes.

Sounding exasperated Sherlock began explaining, "Castiel; shield of God, angel of the Lord. Angels don't eat, John."

"Of course. Angel," John muttered under his breath, but his flatmate ignored him and continued.

"It was quite obvious that he's an angel, you just need to _notice_-" he was geared up for a long explanation, but John raised his hands in surrender, giving Sherlock a look that clearly said _okay, okay, just shut up_.

Pouting, the detective flopped into a chair opposite Castiel and helped himself to toast, butter and eggs. The Winchesters took this as a clue and did the same as John put hot mugs of coffee down for the brothers, and tea for himself and Sherlock before sitting down for breakfast. No one said much as they ate, and Castiel hummed quietly to himself as his eyes roamed around the apartment. Dean smiled to himself as he recognised the tune.

Once the clatter of cutlery against crockery had died down, Sam stood up to help John clear away, and offered to wash up, John thanked him but said that it was "his nibs'" turn to do the dishes.

"Why don't you three go for a walk? Breathe in some London air," John suggested, tipping cold dregs of coffee down the sink. Sam thought about it for a second as he stacked the dirty plates in the sink.

"That'd be nice, but I think we gotta be ready to leave if our friend Bobby calls us back to America. I'll see what Dean and Cas want to do."

Table cleared, the two of them went through to the lounge where Dean was sat in John's chair, Castiel standing awkwardly by his shoulder. Just as Sam and John join them, the sound of AC/DC emitted from Dean's jacket pocket. Pulling a Nokia N78 out, Dean checked the caller ID before answering. Mouthing 'sorry' to the eyes on him, he stood and walked through the apartment door, closing it behind him before talking to the person on the line. Castiel's eyes followed him, though his body stayed stock still.

"What've you got for us, Bobby?...Well what did Rufus say?...Uh-huh…Crowley, Bobby? _Really_?" sighing, Dean opened the door again and stepped back into 221B. "…We'll meet you at Ruby's then…Yep…Bye Bobby."

"I take it you'll be having to leave us, then?" asked John, looking between Sam and Dean. Dean nodded, pocketing his phone.

"'Fraid so. King of hell is stirring up shit again. Cas, can you get mine and Sammy's stuff?"

Without so much as a warning, Cas disappeared with a soft _pop_, making John jump. A minute later, he _popped_ back into the room again, carrying Dean's backpack and Sam's laptop case.

"Do you need me to call you a cab?" John asked, but Sam declined.

"Castiel's our ride," he said. John just raised an eyebrow, not understanding, but not questioning.

"Better walk you down to the door, I suppose. Mrs Hudson'll want to say goodbye," Sherlock said, pushing himself up and out of his chair. He strode ahead and led the way downstairs, yelling out for Mrs Hudson.

"Mrs Hudson, the Winchesters are going now!" he called, throwing the front door open. Mrs Hudson hurried out of 221A, wiping her hands on her apron.

"So soon, boys?" she asked, giving them hugs. Sam had to lean down so she could reach his neck. The hug she gave Castiel was awkward, as Castiel didn't really seem to know what to do, but she either didn't notice, or she didn't mind.

"Business calls, but we'll drop by next time we're in the area," Sam replied. Mrs Hudson laughed, waving as Sherlock practically pushed them out of the door and down the few steps. Reaching around Sherlock, Dean held his hand out to John.

"See you again hopefully, John. Good luck with _him_," Dean shook John's hand, tilting his head in the detective's direction.

"You too, Dean, cheers," John replied, grinning. He pat the hunter on the back and turned to Sam.

"No hard feelings?" Sam asked, grabbing the small man's hand. John laughed and shook his head.

"None. Bye, moose." Sam stood aside to say goodbye to Sherlock, and John caught sight of Castiel waiting patiently. "Hey, Castiel."

Castiel looked up at the sound of his name, and John waved him over.

"You take care of them, yeah? Keep them out of trouble," John said quietly when Castiel was close enough to hear.

"Yes, John."

"I know you will as much as is possible, anyway. Nice meeting you," John grinned at the angel and clapped him on the back. Gently, he pushed him back towards Dean.

Castiel went and stood between the brothers, gripping Sam's upper-arm with one hand and Dean's waist with the other. John stepped back to where Sherlock stood, tucking himself under Sherlock's arm as he waved goodbye.

"Give us a call when you get stumped again, Cheekbones!" Dean called out, and then, with a _pop_, they were gone. John looked up at his partner, whose eyes had narrowed where the hunters and their angel had just been.

Grinning, he pulled him back into the flat and stood up on a step so he could reach Sherlock's lips.

"They were nice. We'll have to catch up with them again."

Sherlock frowned, but John smoothed it out with a kiss.


End file.
